Ephemeris I.

Already bright Morn is opening her windows, already the watchful swallow twitters from her nest; but you, Parmeno, sleep on as if it were the first or the middle watch of the night. Dormice sleep the winter round, but they leave food alone; while you slumber on because you drink deep, and swell out your paunch with too great a mass of food. And so no sound enters the winding channels of your ears, a deep stupor presses on your consciousness, and all the dazzling beams of light do not vex your eyes. Old tales pretend that once upon a time a youth slept on year in, year out, untroubled by the interchange of night and day, because Luna made his slumbers unending.

"Up with you, you waster! What a thrashing you deserve! Up, or a long, long sleep will come on you from where you dread it least." Out with you, Parmeno, from your downy bed!

Perchance this ditty, tuned to the Sapphic mode, encourages your sleep? Come you then, brisk Iambus, and banish hence the restful Lesbian strain.